Nothing will ever be the same
by Kagii
Summary: [One shot] A little interaction between Preston and Jimmy, and the confrontation between Preston and Carl. After Skull Island, nothing could ever hope to go back to how it was...


This is right after act 2, right after they capture Kong. you know  
Disclaimer: I don't own it...

XOxo

Jack Driscoll half-dragged Jimmy into the kitchen of the Venture. He put him as gently as possible onto the table and rushed off again. Jimmy's head was hurting him terribly. He wondered if he was bleeding a little. He tried to raise his hand to his head to feel, but someone grabbed his wrist. Jimmy turned his head a little bit to see the person holding his arm back was Preston, sitting darkly in a chair at the end of the table. He looked angry and sad at the same time, haunted almost, his glasses askew, holding a bloodied handkerchief to his cheek. Jimmy was surprised at how red it was. Preston looked disheveled, his shirt ruffled and torn, his suspenders off line. He shook his head. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to Jimmy. He took Jimmy's hand and placed it on the side of his head. IT stung, and Jimmy knew he had been bleeding.

Preston forced a smile, but he was grimacing again in a moment. Jimmy's vision went hazy for a moment.

"Things are never gonna be the same, are they?" Jimmy slurred.

Preston shook his head slowly and turned his gaze away.

Jimmy sat up, finding it to be a mistake almost immediately as his head began to swim. He swayed a bit, trying hard to straighten himself out. He slid off the table and into a chair; his legs had no intention for holding him up. The pair sat in comfortable silence for a long time, both nursing their wounds. Both their hearts had been broken, just as their bodies had been torn at and hurt.

The stillness of the room was broken by Carl Denham rushing into the room. He looked around quickly, taking in the scene. He looked grim and tired for a split second before he scurried toward Preston.

"Preston! Preston, my boy! Isn't this all wonderful!" He grinned gleefully, taking a seat next to Preston at the table. He pulled out a bottle of whiskey and downed a gulp. He offered the bottle to his assistant, who declined grimly. "Things just worked out so well, didn't they?" Jimmy coughed across the table. Denham sent him a quick and angry look before turning eagerly back to Preston. He was dying for the support and agreement he always got out of Preston. There was a long quiet.

"No..." Preston said finally, turning exhaustedly to look at Denham. "No, Carl, things did not work out well. Seventeen men are dead, Carl. Seventeen." His voice cracked momentarily. If looks could kill, the look on Prestons face at that moment could have stilled a hundred hearts. "For gods sake...You destroy everything you love, don't you? You just ruin everything..." Preston looked disgusted and angry. His eyes were burning with an icy fire that cut right into Denham's heart. Carl was shocked, and a little hurt. "After we get back to New York...I don't ever want to see you again."

Preston gently pulled the handkerchief off his cheek. He touched the deep cut gingerly and, finding it was still oozing blood, pressed the cloth back over the wound. This seemed to express, in a way words could not, the many reasons Preston had lost all faith in Denham.

"We've been friends for so long..." Carl mumbled.

"No!" Preston jumped at him. His voice again disgusted. "You're a manipulator, Carl." He spit the words. "You used me, just like you use everyone else. I was nothing more to you than any of the other people you've tricked along the way." The younger man turned away sharply. His bitter words left an obvious effect on Denham, who numbly stood up and left the kitchen. Preston closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He shivered and blinked his eyes dry.

"Are...Are you okay?" Jimmy asked quietly. He felt as though he had just seen a turning point in two people's lives. It had been awkward for him, but at the same time it had been horribly interesting. The young man felt bad for having enjoyed it so much and for having watched with such rapt attention. Preston leaned forward onto the table. He tried to massage his pounding temples, but found it to hard to bother while still holding the cloth to his bleeding cheek.

"I'll be fine...but you're right...You're completely right, Jimmy...Nothing is ever going to be the same again." 


End file.
